The Cooked Seed (41 page)

“Shakespeare lets us know that Romeo was madly in love with a girl, but her name was not Juliet. Her name was Rosaline. In fact, Romeo crashes a costume party to see Rosaline but then he discovers Juliet. If you were paying attention, you would have seen his love switch from one girl to another in an instant. Shakespeare makes us see how a young man falls in love with his eyes. He shows us how fickle human love is. Did Romeo know Juliet’s name? No. Did he know where she was from? No. Did he instantly decide that he was madly in love with Juliet? Yes. What happened to his love for Rosaline? Did he just forget her? What does this switch say about Romeo? Why did Shakespeare plant this detail? Why did he bother to show that Romeo was in love with Rosaline before Juliet? Shakespeare could have easily arranged for Romeo to meet Juliet without even mentioning Rosaline, who we never meet in the play anyway. The encounter and the love would have been perfect without Rosaline. Why add this disturbing detail? Why introduce another girl that Romeo was passionate about? Why stain the romance? Why did the author put his leading characters on a suicide mission three days after their first meeting? What did Shakespeare really want us to understand?”

Lloyd drew a timeline on the board and then continued, “Both Romeo and Juliet were from incredibly wealthy families. When Juliet finds out who Romeo is from her nurse, after having just met him and not even knowing who he is or what his name is, Juliet says, ‘My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, that I must love a loathed enemy.’ Notice that it was within an hour or so of meeting each other that Juliet says this. She, on the other hand, eventually threatens to kill herself if she cannot have him, and Romeo expresses a similar threat, as you will discover.”

Although most of his students showed no interest, I was fascinated by the way Lloyd encouraged independent thinking. I felt bad for Lloyd when he was ignored. The students yawned, slept, idled, flirted, played video games under the tables, and a few stared into space with glassy eyes.

One boy refused to participate when Lloyd called on him. “I don’t need to study this shit,” he said. “I’m gonna be a basketball player like Michael Jordan, and I’m gonna make a ton of money!”

Without missing a beat, Lloyd responded, “I have been teaching for twenty-five years, and I have worked with several thousand students. Every year I hear the same thing you just said. I haven’t seen any of my students make it to Michael Jordan’s level. You need to study ‘this shit’ for a backup plan, in case life doesn’t work out your way.”

A girl came to the boy’s defense. “I hate Shakespeare. This is boring. I don’t need this. I’m gonna be a model. I’ll get to do what I want.”

“That’s what I thought when I first majored in architecture,” Lloyd said. “But my professor at Cal Poly Pomona said, ‘The guy who has the money will have the final word, not the architect.’ ”

“Doesn’t the architect build?” The girl became interested.

“Most architects don’t get to build their dream buildings. The man does what he’s told to do—not what he wants to do.”

“Is that why you aren’t an architect?” the boy asked.

“I changed my major to urban planning,” Lloyd said. “But my professor told the class the same thing—the guy with the money rules.”

“So you quit?” the girl asked.

“I went to my backup plan,” Lloyd said.

“And that is?”

“I earned a teaching credential, which led to this job. I have taught
Romeo and Juliet
more than fifty times. I have taught some of your mothers, fathers, uncles, and aunts. My point is that you cannot count on your dreams. A big part of life is about being able to pay the bills and put food on the table.”

It was my wedding day. I drove with Lauryann to Lloyd’s place at dawn. Lloyd was standing in front of his bathroom mirror, putting on his tie. I was the photographer. Lloyd said that he hadn’t slept well the night before. He’d had nightmares about his two failed marriages. I told him that I shared a similar fear. Neither of us wanted this to be another mistake.

For good luck, I wore a deep-red Chinese jacket. I dressed Lauryann
in the same color. She would be our witness and sign our marriage certificate. She was excited about the ceremony.

Lloyd couldn’t get his tie straight. He tied it either too long, too short, too loose, or too tight. He stood in front of the mirror pulling at the tie and choking himself.

I tried not to laugh. It was 5:30 in the morning. We had decided to leave early to beat the traffic. We wanted to make sure that we were not late to our own wedding ceremony. We were going to the county offices to register and be married. Lloyd had a ring for me.

Finally, Lloyd was ready. He was wearing a deep-ocean-blue suit with a red tie. I looked at him and thought,
What a lucky woman I am!

Lauryann asked, “Lloydee, why don’t you look happy? You are the groom. Today is your wedding day. You should smile.”

“Nothing is real until it happens,” Lloyd said. “Things can go wrong.”

At the last minute, I changed my mind about my hairstyle. I didn’t want it to look like the Egyptian Sphinx. I had used up a whole bottle of mousse to tame my hair. I heard Lloyd tell Lauryann, “Your mother has a photogenic face. She looks good no matter what hairstyle she wears. She is the sexiest lady alive!”

When we got into Lloyd’s car, I turned on the radio. The voice of Pavarotti sent my blood stirring. He was singing “Nessun Dorma” from
Turandot
. There couldn’t be a better omen, I thought.

The picture showed the three of us as a new family. Lloyd and I were now officially “man and his wife.” I liked the term “man and his wife” better than “man and woman” or “husband and wife.” I liked the feeling of being protected as “his wife.” Lloyd looked relaxed and comfortable. I loved his silver-gray curly hair. I had tears in my eyes when Lloyd said, “I do.” We both wept. It was hard not to. This was too good to be true. Lloyd whispered in my ear that he would die a happy man if he would have “a good twenty to twenty-five years” with me.

Lauryann looked like a china doll in the photo. She stood between us, beaming. The top of her head just reached Lloyd’s elbow. She had just finished placing her signature on our marriage certificate. For weeks she had practiced her cursive.

Lauryann insisted that she had missed the kiss. She demanded that we “do it again” in front of her. “I signed as a
witness
, and I must witness the act.”

Lloyd turned to me. His expression read, “I don’t think it’s proper.”

“Lauryann has been getting her way since she was two,” I said. “Once she was mad at my interviewers and she threw my phone in the toilet. She’s a spoiled American brat.”

“I am an expert in dealing with spoiled American brats,” Lloyd said. “You want to be a witness? Here you have it!” Striking a Rhett Butler pose, he pulled me toward him and pressed his mouth to mine and wouldn’t let go.

We heard Lauryann screaming, “
Eeeew!
”

“You’re grossed out!” Lloyd laughed. “You asked for it! You insisted! Yes, you did! Don’t you say it’s disgusting. That’s how I kiss!”

To punish Lloyd, Lauryann offered to teach him some “useful” Chinese phrases such as “good morning,” “apple,” and “please.” Lauryann picked these words knowing that he was tone-deaf. Lloyd ended up saying “
Zao!
” (good morning) in the fourth tone instead of the third, which turned the meaning into “Screw you!” His “
Ping-guo
” (apple) turned into “ass,” and his “
Qing, Qing!
” (please) became “Let’s kiss!” Imagine Lloyd doing this to a Chinese officer at the embassy:

Officer:
Would you like a Chinese visa?

Lloyd:
Let’s kiss.

The third photo was taken in China a few days later. There were four people in the frame: my father, my mother, Lloyd, and me. We had flown to China to see my parents, family, and relatives. We held a reception dinner at the old Jinjiang Hotel, where Nixon stayed in 1972. The place held a special meaning to me. As a teen I had stood a few hundred yards from the hotel with thousands of others and welcomed the American president. If anyone had told me that I would one day be married to an American, I would have never believed it.

My mother was so weak that she could barely walk, but she looked happy in the photo. She stood by her American son-in-law looking proud.
Her left hand held on to Lloyd’s arm. She had been distressed over my divorcing Qigu. She knew the fate of a divorced woman in China. She was afraid that I had ruined my life as well as Lauryann’s. Joy overwhelmed her when she saw me come home with Lloyd.

My father was glad that I divorced Qigu. It had always troubled him that Qigu did not have a real job. I had to tell my father that Qigu worked as an artist. I warned Qigu about my father’s discontent and asked him to behave himself in front of my father. But Qigu could not stop being himself.

To smooth things over, Qigu offered my father a haircut during his first visit to America. The old man was to visit Chicago’s Adler Planetarium. My father regarded the opportunity as a great honor, the highlight in his career as an expert in the field of China’s astronomical education.

My father told Qigu exactly what he wanted done. “Just trim lightly.” He wanted to keep the foot-long strand of hair that covered his balding top.

Humming a happy tune, Qigu picked up the scissors. While his scissors danced, the old man waited excitedly.

It was too late when I tried to stop Qigu from playing with the foot-long strand. Qigu lifted its end up and murmured to himself, “To be or not to be? To cut or not to cut?”

Before I could say anything, Qigu’s scissors snipped.

I sucked in my breath as the foot-long strand fell to the floor.

When Qigu finished and I gave my father a mirror, his face froze. He tried hard to hold on to his composure. His eyes shut as if to wipe out what was happening.

After my father came out of the shower, he was beyond rage. “You have ruined my look!” he yelled hysterically at Qigu. “You failed to deliver what you promised! I look silly, ugly, and bald! How can I go out and face people? You know tomorrow is my big day! I want my old hair back!”

It was no use comforting the old man. “You did this on purpose!” he yelled at Qigu.

“What’s the big deal?” Qigu shrugged. “It’s a great cut. Many people shave their heads. It’s cool to look bald. If you don’t like it, that’s fine too. Hair grows back. There is no point acting like it is the end of the world.”

“It is the end of the world for my father,” I said to Qigu later. “He only gets one chance to meet with his fellow American planetarium people. You really shouldn’t have done this to him. He told you what he wanted. I warned you. You deliberately did this. Why?”

“Life is about being spontaneous,” Qigu said. “I was inspired by the moment. I felt creative. It was an experiment. That stupid strand looked silly on him. The more he tried to hide his baldness, the more it stood out. That strand of hair fooled nobody but himself.”

“I agree with you. However, it is important that my father feels good about his appearance. You should have let it be. It was his hair.”

“Too bad,” Qigu said. “There is nothing I can do if your old man has fixed his mind on making me his enemy.”

My father loved Lloyd the moment he learned that he had served in the US Marine Corps. “My favorite movie is
Midway
,” was the first thing my father said to Lloyd.

Lloyd responded, “That was the turning point in World War II—”

My father interrupted him. “The US beat the Japs!” He stuck up a thumb. “US Marines good … Japanese killed Chinese, my family … in 1937 … I was a child. Japanese soldier beheaded my cousin. They tied him on a post. I saw with my own eyes. They chopped his head, like this, off … That’s why I watch
Midway
.”

My family welcomed Lloyd, although there were inconveniences. For example, nobody could pronounce Lloyd’s name. I was asked to translate his name and make it pronounceable in Chinese. “Lloyd, Llo-y-d, like
Lao-yet
, which sounds in Chinese like
Lao-ye
, which means ‘Old Master.’ ”

“There is no way we are going to call him Old Master,” my uncles protested. “We must respect our status.”

“How are you going to address him, then?” I asked.

“Anything but Old Master,” my father said.

My family wanted to verify Lloyd’s mental state. My grandaunt worried that he might “apply force” and murder me and Lauryann by accident.

“He must have taken lives in Vietnam,” my granduncle said. “He
couldn’t have avoided it, could he? He might have killed Chinese as well.”

“He might flip. Heaven forbid!” my uncle said. “He doesn’t understand Chinese, does he?”

“No, not at all,” I replied.

“Be very careful, Anchee. This man has blood on his hands! He is a trained killer. We want to see no tragedy. Think twice, Anchee.”

“It’s too late,” I said. “I already married him. You know why I am not afraid? Because I was trained to kill American soldiers too. We all were. According to your logic, he should be afraid of me too. ”

“Nonsense! Our guerrilla-style training does not count. Compared to American marines, we were apes living in caves. Anyway, we want you to pay attention to his unusual habits.”

“Like what?”

“Like eating meat cooked rare. It’s a sign of blood thirst.”

“Don’t worry, he is a vegan.”

“What’s a vegan?”

“He eats no meat.”

My granduncle screwed up his eyes, then nodded. “This makes sense to me.”

“Makes what sense?”

“He stopped eating meat because he is seeking redemption. Too much blood on his hands.”

Lloyd said on our wedding night, “I hope I don’t have flashbacks.”

I looked at him and replied, “I hope
I
don’t have flashbacks.”

The second night, I woke to the sound of Lloyd’s heavy breathing. He was kicking his feet with his eyes shut tight. His head jerked from side to side as if he were dodging blows. Because of the bright moonlight, I didn’t bother turning on the light.